


Boardwalk Exhibition

by muddykate



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Exhibitionism, Fetish, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Public Orgasm, Public Sex, Voyeurism, Wet & Messy, foodplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:53:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25144993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muddykate/pseuds/muddykate
Summary: Martin finds out just how sweet a milkshake on a hot day can be.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 7
Kudos: 35





	Boardwalk Exhibition

**Author's Note:**

> Please note a couple things:
> 
> 1\. While performing sex acts/kinky shit in front of random strangers can be hot as hell in fiction, it's not a cool thing to do in real life. Consent is something that all parties must agree too. This is fiction and not meant to be a comment on kink ethics.
> 
> 2\. While Jon's relationship to his sexuality isn't addressed in this fic, and while he's a part of some kinky shit in this, please know that this is meant to be a depiction of a sex-positive asexual character, and not an erasure of Jon's canon sexuality. If you want to know my sort-of-headcanon for Jon's sexuality in this fic, it's that he enjoys certain aspects of kink (esp. voyeurism, thanks Beholding), and most definitely enjoys making sex about Martin, but isn't a fan of sex acts focused on himself.

Martin screamed as he tipped over the edge of his orgasm and collapsed on Jon, sticky and sated. Jon took a long lick of chocolate from the other man’s cheek and massaged Martin’s neck gently with one hand as he made a visible effort not to doze off. They’d had great fun experimenting with chocolate body paint over the past days. It was perfect for bed. Messy enough to satisfy them both, yet it came in small enough doses not to drip off of their mess-proof sheets and onto the carpet.

After a minute of steadying their breathing, Jon broke the silence. His smile belied a devious curiosity that filled Martin with a fresh wave of arousal.

“I think we should go to Blackpool.”

Martin returned his smile. Whatever he had planned would be fantastic; of that he was certain.

•••

The day was hot, and the milkshake Jon had bought him was blessedly cool against Martin’s palm. Jon had bought him a ridiculously sized cup of vanilla, and himself a more modestly sized chocolate. He sipped it casually, occasionally letting out low hums of enjoyment.

As they walked down the boardwalk, a sickly pit of excitement grew in Martin’s stomach. _He wouldn’t_. He was in his best jeans and a new shirt. Not to mention the fact that there were people in every direction. He flexed his toes in his trainers and was suddenly ultra-aware of how very clean he was. White socks, trainers without a scuff, pressed shirt, new jeans… It was almost like he was begging Jon’s inner exhibitionist to come out and play.

Whatever tendencies Jon had possessed before his becoming, his thirst for voyeurism (and for Martin’s exhibitionism) had grown to an insatiable thirst. Not that Martin minded, of course. He was submissive at heart, and the thrill of pleasing Jon, of performing for him and any onlookers Jon deigned to be present, was enough to send his head spinning.

The more crowded the boardwalk became, the more powerful Jon’s hunger became. It was an almost physical presence in the air, thick with potential. Martin was already half hard when Jon stopped, pulling Martin close to himself.

Standing in the middle of the walkway, Martin watched the ignorant passers-by and tightened the grip on his drink. Jon caught his eye and then pulled him down for a kiss. He could almost taste the anticipation on his lips. His kiss was all nips and sucking, each bite a promise for something freshly perverted and absolutely _filthy_.

After a few seconds, Jon pulled away from the kiss and pecked his way up Martin’s jaw towards his ear. Then he whispered to him in the voice that had been a starring player in Martin’s wet dreams for years.

“I want you to take that milkshake, and I want you to pour it over your head. Slowly. Right. Here. I want people to see you. I want them to stare at you. I want to press you up against the railing behind you and rub myself off on your thigh until I cum.” Martin gasped and tried in vain to hold back the flush that blossomed over his face. Jon continued, clearly pleased with the effect he was having on him. 

“I can’t do that, though. Might get arrested. So I guess I’ll have to settle for walking all the way back to the hotel with a vanilla-flavoured Martin.”

Martin struggled to stay upright, his knees turning to jelly with arousal. Jon subtly pressed a palm over his trousers and his cock twitched achingly. Jon gave him a quick squeeze and simultaneously sucked his earlobe into his mouth. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to lose his load right here in front of an audience. Not that it would be much worse than what he was about to do.

“Martin,” Jon whispered.

“Hm?” he hummed, trying to fight through his aroused haze.

“I’m going to step back and I’m going to watch you, okay? I’m going to watch you mess yourself completely, and then I’m going to take your hand and we’ll walk back to the hotel. Put on a good show.”

Martin swallowed heavily and nodded. His tongue was thick in his mouth and his vision hazy. Every nerve in his body was buzzing with electricity, and Martin couldn’t tell which aspects of the overwhelming sensation were supernatural, and which were his own desperation. The heat from Jon’s body vanished, leaving his own feeling quite bereft. But he wouldn’t be far off. Just out of his line of sight. Watching. 

He looked down at the drink in his hand. An absurd size, the cup had to be taller than his head and wide as his bicep. A few thin rivers of the liquid had trailed down the cup already due to his excited squeezing, but none had reached his hand. He was still as miraculously clean as before.

Holding the cup in his right hand, he slowly pulled out the straw with his left. Inch by inch, the plastic tube revealed the consistency of the mixture inside. With caution, Martin licked the coating off the straw. It was sweet and cold, and he could help himself thinking what it was going to feel like when it covered him. He swirled the hint of milkshake around in his mouth, and swallowed like he was trying to savour every precious drop of the liquid.

Letting go of the straw, he noticed one of two people who gave him a stern look for blatantly littering. Distantly, he felt a small tinge of guilt for the rubbish. Still, the thought was infinitesimal compared to the constant stream of hot anxiety and arousal that pulsed through his veins.

Gingerly, he took the plastic lid off the drink and let it fall beside the straw on the ground. He could feel his heart speeding up and his face flushing again. He tried to control his breathing, sure that everyone around him was bound to notice his panting. He stared at the light mixture. The semi-frozen mush reflected the sunlight and gleamed enticingly in the container. Martin noticed his hand starting to shake and knew he had to do it before he lost his nerve.

Looking around, he saw that people were starting to look at the strange man who was peering at his milkshake like a lover. He imagined Jon in some dark corner with his hand down his jeans, fingers poised to stroke himself in time with Martin’s exhibition.

Slowly, he raised the cup. Up, up, towards his lips. He paused there. Realised that once he lifted it higher, there was no going back. He felt like he was standing naked with a flashing neon sign behind him reading Kinky Pervert. Of course, he could stop. Just stop right there, sip his drink, and deal with Jon’s disappointment, but save his dignity.

Was he that sort of a man? He paused, and saw people starting to slow down to give him curious stares. It fed a fire in his belly and made his arm feel all the lighter.

No. He was going to do this.

He lifted the cup past his lips and up above his head.

_Now_ people were staring.

Martin thought his heart might leap from his chest, if his lungs didn’t burst first. He remembered Jon’s instructions.

_I want you to take that milkshake, and I want you to pour it over your head. Slowly_.

He tipped the cup.

The first drop of milkshake hit his head and he gasped. It was cold. He could feel it pressing down his hair and starting to trail down his scalp towards his neck.

He tipped further and the stream began. He couldn’t contain a small cry as the cold liquid flattened his hair and started to trail down his face. Down his forehead, around his eyes, tickling down his nose and dripping off down to the ground. Behind his ears and down the back of his neck, squirming down under his collar and between his shoulder blades.

People were stopping in their path now, watching to see what the crazy man was doing. Pointing.

He tipped it further and the stream increased. It was over his eyes and in his mouth and he could taste the cold sweet liquid racing over his lips and his tongue. It was soaking into his shirt and trailing down his back and chest, racing towards his belt on both sides. He gasped for breath and tried to hold his buckling knees steady.

There was a small crowd forming, quickly gaining murmuring onlookers who were all puzzled and intrigued.

Martin’s world was nothing but the sweet, cool prison he’d erected around himself. He tipped the cup higher and higher, pouring faster and faster and losing all care of ruining his clothes or his dignity. Vanilla milkshake was streaming down the fingers of his left hand and seeping into the legs of his jeans. With a singular thought in his head, he pulled his belt just slightly away from his stomach and let a small collection of drink flow down and coat his cock through his trousers.

His jaw fell slack and he moaned loudly in uncontainable arousal. It was only a small sliver of his brain that remained conscious of his surroundings and kept him from finishing himself off to the crowd.

The cup’s contents seemed almost endless. He tipped it upside down and planted it in the messy pile that was quickly melting down his head. Frantically, he ran his hands — one clean, one messy — up and down his shirt. Pressing the sopping fabric against his skin and relishing in the feel of liquid still streaming down his every feature.

There was a pool forming around his feet. The portion of his milkshake that had already bathed his cock had now travelled down his legs, soaking his socks and trainers on its way to the pavement.

Martin could barely keep his hips still, fighting valiantly to keep them from jerking out in desperation. He pressed his legs together and groaned deeply as the thick liquid squished and slid around his balls and his legs, seeping into his trousers and making absolutely every inch of him cold and sticky.

He revelled in it.

He didn't know what to do with his hands, clenching and rubbing desperately at his sides. He fought the urge to delve into his pants and just finish himself off in front of the onlookers.

It was then that he felt a warm hand brush his own cold, sticky one. Fingers slid across his palm and slotted between his own, and the grip tightened with a squelch. He didn’t dare open his eyes, but that didn’t matter as Jon leaned in close to his ear and whispered.

“Gorgeous. Such a good show, my good boy.” Martin shuddered at the praise. It would be impossible for him to get any harder, he thought. “I’m going to take you apart and lick you until you scream.” Martin felt like he was choking on the force of his arousal, his heart in his throat and the chilled liquid still running in rivulets down his body. It was too much. Jon pressed himself to the other man in a kiss. His well-pressed clothes instantly ruined as he plastered his body against Martin’s.

There was one more surprise he hadn’t anticipated, and as Jon crushed his body against Martin’s, he also crushed his cup between them. A new flow of cold, sweet liquid burst around his waist, and that was the last Martin could handle. He shuddered violently in Jon’s arms, and let out a gasp that he swallowed in a bruising kiss.

Martin’s orgasm hit him in waves. With each jerk of his hips, a new thought flashed in his mind and thrust him higher in ecstasy: he came as the milkshake burst between their bodies. He cried out as he opened his eyes – lashes heavy with the liquid that covered them – as he saw people watching him, knowing exactly what kind of perverted activity he was performing in front of them. His hips jerked again as he realized he had now not only ruined his pants with the milkshake, but with the bursts of his own cum. He let out a whimper as Jon pushed his hips against his and scratched his nails down his clothed back.

He came to his senses a thoroughly ruined man.

Jon pulled away just enough to look him in the eye. His front was smeared with white and brown, and his face was streaked with the sticky mess from his own. His smile was wicked, and Martin knew he’d be cumming from the mere memory of this moment for years to come.

“Let’s head back and see how much more filthy we can get.”

Martin took his hand, mindless of the countless watching eyes, and knew he’d follow him anywhere.


End file.
